


A Magister Always Pays His Debts

by itzteegan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Adoribull Reverse Bang 2019, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eluvians (Dragon Age), Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22283431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzteegan/pseuds/itzteegan
Summary: When Dorian is snatched by a straggling group of Venatori, The Iron Bull drops everything to save him. But once his Kadan is rescued, can he be persuaded to leave his side so the Magister can return to his duties? Or is there possibly another solution hidden within a Dalish Mage in Kirkwall?
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70
Collections: The Collected Fanfics for the Adoribull Reverse Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks goes to the artist who drew a vision for a story I already wanted to capture (who you can find at fanjapanologist.tumblr.com) and my fellow writer for this piece of art, both of whom allowed me to ramble and bounce a few ideas off of them for this. Also, obviously, thanks to Mozzy for hosting this challenge. :)
> 
> Featured art is in chapters 3 and 9, because I thought the placement was perfect. :)

Well, this was a fine mess.

The ambush had been quick. Well planned. Dorian wondered how many hours they might have poured into it, how many sleepless nights they spent on tailing him and formulating how best to capture him. It seemed their efforts were not in vain, as they had managed to quite successfully execute a near flawless snatch and grab. Near flawless because there were a couple of their men who laid immolated on the streets of Minrathous for their audacity, but either way Dorian was now in their possession. He cursed himself for his foolish lackadaisicalness, how he'd allowed himself to comfortably settle into a routine. There was always risks just being a Magister in Tevinter, never mind one of the co-founders and leaders of the progressive Lucerni sect, but Dorian had allowed himself to relax a little too much, thinking that surely no one would be bold enough to grab him off the streets in broad daylight.

He'd thought wrong.

A payoff here, a bribe there, plus some lazy obliviousness from his end, and he'd managed to get himself captured only a few blocks from his own residence. _How could I be so idiotic?_ he wondered to himself. There were no ready answers for him, and he fumed silently under the hood that had been thrown over his head. His breath had him heated underneath the thick material and he could feel the sweat start to accumulate on his forehead and temple and drip down his face, no doubt smearing the expensive makeup that he'd painstakingly applied that morning and mussing the hair he'd so carefully coiffed. He wasn't so far above vanity that those thoughts didn't cross his mind at all, even as brief as they were. Mostly he was concerned about one person in particular, worried not entirely about himself - although he did that as well - but also about The Iron Bull.

Who would tell him, the Altus wondered as he was dragged along, tripping over uneven ground. How many times would The Bull try to contact him via sending crystal only to have no response? Would he risk a trip into Minrathous in order to try to find him? Would he simply write him off? A part of him wanted to believe that last part in particular wasn't true, but he couldn't help the fears and anxieties that overtook him as he was manhandled into the forests outside of the city (he only knew that because of the change in the ground beneath his feet, changing from cobblestone streets to underbrush; at least he appeared to have some sense about him, still). He had been so busy lately, he hadn't talked to him in a few weeks now, and regret tugged at his heart that he hadn't made at least a few minutes for him. A few minutes to tell him that he loved him, to hear his voice, to feel intimately connected though they were miles apart. It was one of the things he cherished most these days - second only to their border village rendezvous, of course - and he fervently wished he could at least hear his voice one last time. From the feeling he was getting, however, this group had brought some Templar-trained individuals with them, and if they stayed as vigilant as he suspected, he wasn't going to get a chance to escape. _Bollocks._

Dorian recognised when his feet started hitting stone once more, and he racked his brain to figure out exactly where he might be. Considering the distance he'd been taken, he had a pretty good idea of the location, but whether this was permanent or not, he couldn't say. If they were smart enough to capture him, he would wager that this was only a stopping point. How long he would be kept here, he couldn't say, and he wasn't sure if he wanted the time to drag out or not. As he contemplated the pros and cons of such a thing, he was roughly shoved into a room, the hood pulled off his head as he was pushed inside, stumbling and falling to his knees as the door was slammed shut. The lock audibly clicked as Dorian blinked rapidly, trying to get a sense of his surroundings, such as they were. To his surprise, he wasn't in some dank, drafty cell, though he was hardly in the lap of luxury to which he was accustomed. The room was quite plain and bare, not even a sleep roll. He wondered if that was because they didn't expect to stay here long or if they didn't care enough to provide him with one. He suspected the latter, though the former could have easily factored in as well. The only thing of note was a bucket, presumably to use as a latrine, and the only light that filtered in was in a slit in the wall high near the ceiling. Otherwise, the stone walls were solid and nondescript and had Dorian not already done the math to figure out where he was, he would have been at a loss since there was absolutely nothing unique to draw upon for reference. Wincing slightly as he pushed himself up off of his knees, he leaned against the cold stone wall, the burning silence still coursing through his veins, rendering his magic useless. He strained to try to hear beyond his room, but it was either dampened with enchantments or his captors were taking care to quiet their movements. Perhaps in a bid to make him think he was alone? To make him careless? He knew better now, though it was a bit late for that.

His mind raced as he tried to work out his options, as limited as they were. With their little friend along with them, using magic was an unreliable plan, as he doubted they would give the silence an opportunity to wear off. He grunted as he felt it still going strong, inhibiting the magic he was so used to feeling. They must have activated it right before they’d thrown him in his cell, judging by how much it stung currently. _Hmmmm._ If they had done that, then surely that meant they intended to leave him be for at least a little while, which meant … _I should have just enough time, then. One last message …_

They had thankfully only snatched his staff and his coin purse from him, either not seeing or not recognising the sending crystal around his neck. Dorian had no clue where The Iron Bull might be, though he knew well that even if he were near the border, it would likely be far too late for him by the time he made it up to around Minrathous. But he couldn’t pass up this chance to at least tell him goodbye, and so he fished the crystal out from around his neck and activated it, praying to the Maker and whatever other gods who might listen that he not be in the middle of a battle and unable to listen.

Either the prayer worked or fate simply smiled at him, as it wasn’t but a few moments before that lovely baritone floated over the crystal. “Hey, Dorian, was wondering when I might hear from you …”

Dorian smiled to hear him. He sounded relaxed, at ease, and he hated to bring this to him but he knew it would be far better in the long run to give him this. Give him the chance to get closure so he could move on. _Move on_ … the thought hurt, Dorian couldn’t deny that, but above all he wanted The Iron Bull to be happy, and if he had to be happy without Dorian, well, then that was just how it would have to be. And so he cleared his throat and began, “Amatus, I have to tell you something …”

+

Every muscle in The Bull’s body tensed, time seeming to slow down even as his heart raced. He had to take a deep breath to try to appear as calm as possible, even as he ground out each word, “Where. Are. You?”

Dorian brushed him off, refusing to give him specifics. “A ruin outside Minrathous. It doesn’t matter, I have a feeling I may not be here long.”

“What do you mean? Are they moving you?”

“That or killing me. Either option is equally viable.”

Rage and bloodlust flooded The Bull’s body, his reaver sensibilities attempting to surface, but he tamped it down, trying to keep calm for Dorian’s sake. The mage was trying to spare him, he knew, but he wasn’t about to have all of that. He’d survived Seheron, defied the Qun, and helped the Inquisition defeat two gods. Not attempting a rescue just wasn’t going to happen, he wasn’t going to sit on his ass while his Kadan suffered. Even if he got himself killed crossing over into Tevinter, even if he was too late, he had to try. His mind was going a mile a minute, mentally going over maps of the area that he’d seen, figuring out paths and roads to take so he could be as discreet as possible.

All the while, Dorian droned on, “Either way, it seems they didn’t take my sending crystal. Look, Bull, I … I don’t know how much longer I have. But I didn’t want to … to meet my end without telling you one last time … I love you.”

The Bull’s heart felt like it clenched in his chest. Dorian was trying to tell him goodbye, worried about him and his well-being despite his circumstances. He would have thought it sweet, had it not come with the price of Dorian’s life hanging in the balance. Of course he wasn’t going to simply leave the Magister to his fate … but a small part of him, a panicked part of him, told him that if this was indeed the last time they spoke, to not leave off with an argument. So, instead of pressing him for more details or insisting that he could come for him – which Dorian should have bloody known anyway – he simply said, “I love you, too, Kadan.”

Dorian was quiet for a moment before he said, “I’m sorry it has to end like this, truly. I never quite pictured going out this way. But, I suppose this is the price I pay for everything I’ve been working for here.” An exhale that was half a chuckle, half exasperation. “At least they seemed to have spared no expense with the assassins. I suppose I can take comfort in the fact that this has considerably lightened their coin purses.”

The Iron Bull had to actively suppress the groan and the eye roll that threatened to surface. Typical Dorian, making jokes even though he was facing death or worse. He didn’t seem to know when or even how to turn it off, for better or for worse. Perhaps he could annoy his captors to death. That would be a first.

The mage began to say something else with, “I …” but he was cut off by something on his end as he paused for a moment, coming back only with a hiss to say, “I hear them coming. Amatus, I’m sorry, I should have been smarter. I love you. I’ll always love you.”

And then that was it as Dorian deactivated the crystal from his end. The Bull didn’t even try to open it from his, knowing that Dorian’s situation was precarious and he didn’t want to exacerbate it further. Instead, he took a deep breath, closed his eye for a moment as he gathered his thoughts and all of his pre-planning, then stood and shouted as he walked out of his tent. “Chargers! We have a job!”


	2. Chapter 2

The journey into Tevinter was far from easy and fraught with difficulty. Between Krem, who was a known fugitive from the army, and the large hulking Tal-Vashoth, they had to be careful in how they moved, planning their path down to the minute as they scheduled stops and camping sites. Fortunately, near the border, they met up with Sutherland, his group one the Chargers knew well from their days in the Inquisition. They’d been discreetly performing some reconnaissance in the area for Divine Victoria and, once they were told what happened to Dorian, they immediately volunteered their services. The Iron Bull couldn’t say he was unhappy for the help, and the information they gave them was invaluable, but every moment they spent in travel meant another moment Dorian spent in the clutches of those who had kidnapped him. That is, if he was still alive. The Bull refused to think of that possibility, but he hadn’t heard from Dorian since the last time they spoke. He kept his sending crystal on him always, attached to the same cord as the dragon tooth that Dorian had made for him in keeping with Qunari tradition, but there was nary a peep from it. He worried more and more with each passing day, trying to convince himself that the Magister simply hadn’t been left alone for long enough and not the other possibility …

It took a week of swift, careful travel in the open country to make it to the ruin outside Minrathous that Dorian had referenced, but judging by the signs, it had long been left empty. Just as Dorian had supposed, they hadn’t waited much to move him, and from the lack of blood, it seemed they moved him while he was still alive. The Iron Bull utilised every skill developed as a Ben-Hassrath to sift through what had been left behind, looking for any kind of a sign where they might have gone or a trail to pick up on. Whoever they were, they were careful and clean, and it was a frustrating endeavor to pick up the small pieces and put them together. But if there was anyone who could do it, it was The Bull, and put them together he did.

The trail he found lead them out of the main hub of cities and into the countryside of Tevinter, nice and isolated and with limited resources should Dorian attempt an escape. Just another layer of hopelessness to ply him with. The Iron Bull still had no word from him, and if he was still alive, he had to wonder what game they were playing. Were they looking for information? Contacts? Cooperation? Surely they didn’t think they could make him abandon the path he was on to help redeem his homeland. If there was one trait of Magister Pavus that stood out above the rest, it was his tenacity, his inability to be swayed from his course once he’d determined his path. It was one of the things The Bull truly admired about him, especially in the days following him officially becoming Tal-Vashoth when he felt lost and volatile. He had been an anchor, a place of certainty in a time where everything was uncertain. His confidence in knowing who he was and living as such unapologetically slowly bled over into him until he could settle into his new reality of being separated from the Qun.

There was much that Dorian had done for The Bull. And The Iron Bull never forgot. It was that determination, that sense of loyalty and honour that fueled him, that continuously pushed him to find and rescue the Mage. Or, at the very least, reclaim what was left of him and let him rest in peace. That was a reality he didn’t want to face, but it was a narrative that his waking nightmares frequently liked to prey on. He had to shake his head and close his eyes to get rid of the images that plagued him. Dorian ripped to shreds, blood soaking into the ground, sacrificed in some damned blood magic ritual. Eyes open and vacant, face locked in his last expression of fear and agony, body long cold as The Bull gathered the shell of his lover in his arms. It was these visions that he frequently had to shake himself out of, to dismiss to the back of his mind so he could concentrate on the mission at hand. If the worst had indeed befallen Dorian, he owed it to him to at least find his body and make those responsible pay. After and only after he could take the time to mourn his loss. Until then, he kept moving.

One week stretched into two, stretched into three. The Iron Bull tried his best to not feel disheartened the longer it took to find him, to follow the trail, to double back and ensure they were on the right path, but the more time it took to follow who had taken Dorian the more he felt he would find a corpse instead. Still, he owed it to him to try, and so he continued. Even as three weeks became four, became five and then six and they were following their trail on down through Nevarra and Orlais until they were in the Western Approach. What they were doing all the way out there, The Iron Bull could only guess. He knew there were some remaining sects of Venatori, and since the Approach was so vast and inhospitable, it was almost impossible to route every single pocket out there. The Inquisition had done its best, but there were bigger priorities for the organisation, and so these small bands of resistance had remained.

Taking them apart, then, was The Iron Bull’s pleasure.

The first sect he encountered wasn’t the one that held Dorian, but once confronted with the reality of an angry Tal-Vashoth separated from his lover, they quickly cowed to the interrogation. They didn’t have much information, but what they did give was useful enough that The Bull gave them a quick death, freeing the slaves they kept before they moved on. Perhaps the Venatori didn’t deserve such a mercy, but what they gave him invigorated him, gave him hope. The sect that had him taken, they planned something very specific for him. Gruesome, but specific all the same, and as it was it required a certain finesse of timing that required not only waiting, but that the target remain alive until the last possible moment of the ritual.

_Alive_. Dorian was alive. The Iron Bull’s hope had been flagging as of late, but now he was motivated more than ever before. His Kadan was still out there and alive and he had to get to him before the Venatori completed what they wanted to do.

The final destination lay in the Hissing Wastes, and it was close to eight weeks since the Magister had been snatched that The Bull’s Chargers and Sutherland’s Company drew close to the final camp. As much as he wanted to be in the main assault, The Bull’s priority was getting to and rescuing Dorian, and as such, Krem and Sutherland teamed up to lead the two companies. Perhaps it was a bit reckless to not take anyone with him, but with how quickly and quietly he could move on his own, the distraction provided by the frontal assault should be more than enough to distract the Venatori long enough to snatch their prisoner away from them. As they crouched and watched, a good enough distance away so they wouldn’t be heard or seen, they went over the plan one last time.

Krem smoothed down a rough, makeshift map of the camp that their scouts had managed to piece together. Pointing out chokepoints, he said, “We can’t get held up at these points, so we’ll need to take them quickly. Archers, mages … Dalish … we’ll need you to help clear them so the warriors can claim them and use them to our advantage.” Pointing to another area, he explained, “This is their biggest, most central building, so expect heavy resistance both getting there and coming from it. The scouts peeked into the outbuildings and found nothing but supplies, so we suspect this is also where they’re holding Dorian. We’ll want to hit them hard and fast, but also loud so they’ll be drawn to us and away from the back of the building, where The Iron Bull will sneak in. Any questions?” There was none to be had, so Krem only added, “Alright then. If you have any gear that is resistant to magic, I suggest you put it on now. They’re not going to make this easy.”

Rolling up the map, Krem stashed it in his bag as they dispersed to ready for the attack. The Iron Bull was already good to go, had been for weeks now, and he simply sat and waited for the companies to attack and draw the attention of the Venatori. He was antsy, on edge in a way he hadn’t been in the intervening weeks because he was so close now. Adrenaline already stirred in his veins, starting to awaken the bloodlust, the wild abandon of his reaver-like abilities. He tamped them down, held them in check for now. Once he was assured that Dorian was safe, he could tear into the Venatori all he wanted, but the Altus was most important.

It was only his Ben-Hassrath training that made him instinctually aware of his surroundings that saved him from startling when Krem settled a hand on his shoulder. “Dorian will be fine,” he murmured, low enough so only The Bull could hear. “He’s here. We’ll get him.”

“I know.”

Patting him on the shoulder, Krem left him with, “Don’t worry about us, just find Dorian. And if you’re lucky, we’ll even leave a few for you.”

The savage grin that crossed The Iron Bull’s face was enough to send dread through even the staunchest warrior.


	3. Chapter 3

The waiting, while short enough, seemed nigh unbearable knowing his Kadan was so close. But wait he did until the signal, the explosive that meant that the fighting had started and now was his chance. He kept his weapon unsheathed, close at hand, in the off chance that not all Venatori would fall for their ruse. He was smart to do so, as his suspicion held true, though the few that had been in his way were not enough to sate the bloodlust roiling through his veins. He wanted nothing more than to take apart every single person in the camp, leaving their corpses nothing but bloody smears on the desert floor. And, if the prospect of rescuing Dorian hadn’t been there, he likely would have. But he refused to give in, to allow his wants to override his lover’s needs, and so he pressed on toward the main building, settling for deftly dispatching the few who crossed his path so quietly, they didn’t even have a chance to scream before his axe cut them down.

The back door was unlocked thankfully, because The Bull had no rogue with him and no ability to pick locks to speak of. If he’d had to, he would have simply broken down the door, but that would have killed whatever advantage his stealth had given him. Not that he would have minded more enemies to fight as he carved a path to his Kadan, but now that he set foot where he knew he was being held, his focus narrowed as he sought the room where their special prisoner was being kept.

They were smart, he had to give them that, keeping him in a central room to make it harder to snatch him away, more difficult for him to escape should he somehow be given the opportunity. Smarter still were the Templar-trained individuals that guarded him, likely keeping up a silence all around him to render his abilities moot. The Bull scowled as he took a moment to take in the scene, trying to ignore the poor state his lover was in for the moment in favour of the Templars who stood watch. He fortunately wouldn’t need to take magic into account, but most Templars were well-trained warriors, and even five on one wouldn’t be necessarily easy for The Iron Bull.

Fun, but not easy.

The Bull roared as he burst into the room, using his height and his voice to intimidate as much as it could before he even reached them with his weapon. A couple of them startled, cowing before the fight was even brought to them, inexperienced with facing down a raging Tal-Vashoth. This only incensed him more, however, to face such cowards, cowards who guarded his Kadan, and they were the first to meet the edge of his blade. The other three stood firm, the two who held shields holding them up and at the ready as the third went to charge, trying to open him up so the others could attack when he was vulnerable. The Bull had seen strategies like that for years, and the sticking point was, the attacker had to remain alive long enough to push the target toward the others and simultaneously distract them enough to leave them open.

When facing The Iron Bull, they never lasted that long.

After the third hit the floor, the other two stood their ground, still, eying him warily over the tops of their shields. The first one he hooked with his chain and yanked, pulling him close before landing a kick that sent him sprawling on the ground, stunned, with the wind knocked out of him. Before he could recover, The Bull was already following through in an arc with his axe, cleaving his head straight off his body. With a growl, he faced the last one, shaken by the sight before him, of the Tal-Vashoth warrior covered in blood and uttering sounds that could cower dragonlings. The last was perhaps the smartest, feigning before moving toward his blind side, but The Bull was used to compensating for those kinds of attacks and he soon joined his comrades in death.

Breathing heavily, he tried to calm the bloodlust that was singing in his veins, pleading, begging for more, but their song drowned out much and he stumbled trying to reign it all in. The only thing that brought him back from the brink, that hand him stepping back from the edge was one word and one word only, uttered so quietly that he shouldn’t have even been able to hear it.

“Amatus.”

+

+

Dorian shivered in his makeshift cell, his bones aching as badly as his wrists and ankles, wreathed in ill-fitting iron shackles. His robe was ragged, and not meant for the weather outside of Minrathous, and despite its billowing nature it was quite thin and if anything seemed to hold the chill closer to his skin. His mouth was dry, almost continuously dry since they never gave him enough water, and his stomach complained over the lack of food. They’d usually throw some sort of slop at him every couple of days, seemingly forgetting in between. That or not caring. Either seemed valid possibilities. But then again, why keep him so long? What was their endgame? Dorian had strained to listen to their conversations, but it seemed they were smart enough to not talk about their plans around him, and he’d all but given up in finding out, the same way he’d given up in keeping track of the time.

He was fairly certain of the first couple of weeks that passed, as the holding cells he was shoved into always had some sort of window to the outside, as high and small and inaccessible as it may have been. But after that, it was much more difficult, as they didn’t appear to keep to a specific schedule while they travelled and most of the places he was deposited into had no outside access to speak of. He figured he could account for, perhaps, another week, and then after that the time just blurred together, a seemingly endless stretch of time he spent in their care. He sneered even at the thought of that word, grimacing at the silence that still stung in his veins. It had been so long since he’d even felt his own magic, he’d forgotten what it had even felt like, what it was like to even cast a spell or hold a staff. His only respite was escaping to the Fade in his sleep, but over time even that held little joy anymore. He’d tried to use it to recreate and relive certain happy memories – mostly involving The Iron Bull, since many of them involved him – but the longer he spent in captivity, the harder it was to access the happiness required to fully realise memories in that manner, and so he’d given up, shaping his little corner of the Fade to at least be a neutral and safe note to the danger he was physically in.

Truly there was little comfort to be had. Dorian took what he could.

The explosion that rocked the camp startled him at first, unceremoniously yanking him out of sleep. Confused and disoriented, it seemed he wasn’t the only one as the camp was soon in an uproar, the sounds of flung spells and twinging arrows and crashing steel reminding him of his days with the Inquisition. Except, normally, he would be involved in the attack itself, providing barrier for his allies and throwing horror on his enemies. This time the tables were a bit turned, and he was the damsel in distress waiting for a rescue. Hope began to take hold, then, hope that he’d thought long burned out. For, if he was correct, it wouldn’t be too long before his Knight in shining armour arrived to sweep him off his feet and carry him off in style.

The roar that echoed through the room announced his arrival.

That sound planted only fear in the hearts of the guards, but to Dorian it was perhaps the sweetest sound he could hear, other than perhaps his name falling from those same lips. He watched as The Iron Bull dispatched his captors one right after the other, the silence growing weaker with each one he cut down, and when the final one lay dead and bleeding on the floor, Dorian finally felt his magic start to return. It was weakened, after spending so long under silence, but it was there and he felt he could have sung to the heavens had his parched throat allowed. A small smile grew as he glanced at his lover, breathing heavily with exertion and the bloodlust he tapped into for battle, and murmured the one word he felt he could at that moment.

“Amatus.”

With that, the muscles in The Bull’s back began to relax, and he turned to look at him. Dorian’s cheeks burned with shame that his lover should see him in such a disheveled state, dirty and thin and his hair grown out into a rat’s nest. He looked nothing like the confident mage who’d met the Herald and her party in the Chantry in Redcliffe, a smart smile on his face before he’d thrown a witty line at them. He’d been so full of those, his sass sometimes being the only thing that got him through the day, but it had been so long since he’d even spoke at all, his voice had startled even him when he’d called out to The Bull.

If he was affected by how Dorian appeared, he didn’t show it as he rushed to his side, kneeling and assessing the chains that held him. “A key … in his pocket,” Dorian pointed out, referring to the last of the guards that The Bull had cut down. It was hastily retrieved and finally he was freed from the ill-fitting chains that rubbed his wrists and ankles raw.

The Bull helped him to his feet, but his legs trembled, body weak from the little sustenance it had received for an uncountable number of days. “It’s alright, Kadan, I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice soft and low, such a sharp contrast to the raging beast who had entered the room. Dorian’s fingers weakly grasped at his lover, fighting to stay upright as he began to lead him out of the room, but he stumbled so often, nearly falling completely, that eventually The Bull simply scooped him up and carried him bridal style, his strength more than enough to compensate for Dorian even when the mage was well-fed and not wasted away from captivity.

Despite himself, as The Bull carried him out of the building, Dorian couldn’t help a small smile as he thought, _Heh, just like a real fairy tale, then_.


	4. Chapter 4

The Chargers regrouped along with Sutherland’s company at their camp, now that much safer since the Venatori threat was taken care of. They could have taken advantage of the ruins that the extremist cult had taken up in, but it seemed cruel to keep Dorian in the same place he’d been held captive. The Bull almost felt like he was handling glass as he carried him back to his tent, noticing with displeasure how much lighter the Magister was compared to the last time they’d met for a romp in a border tavern. Not that it had ever been difficult to lift him in the past, but circumstances aside, it was almost comical how easily he lifted him now. Instead of comment or fixate on it – something that would have sent his rage into overdrive – he set his mind and his eye on the goal of reaching his tent and the comfortable, extra large bedroll that was waiting for Dorian. Likely the most comfortable spot he’d been placed in since he was captured.

He knew Dorian looked bad, but the way Krem and the others grimaced as they saw him, it just threw it all into an even harsher perspective. His hair, instead of expertly coiffed, was grown out and dishevelled in a way that ordinarily would have horrified the dignified Magister. There were no signs left of his makeup anymore, long since wiped or sweated away, and in its place was an uncharacteristic gaunt look about him that wasn’t helped by the beard that had developed in lieu of being able to properly shave. His robes billowed around him, but by the feel of him, The Bull knew he was much more skinny than the last time he’d seen him, and he wondered when was the last time he’d actually had a proper meal.

Scratch that, he knew full well. It was too obvious they’d fed him just enough to keep him alive until the right time, and “just enough” was a far cry from “adequate”.

He settled down easily enough into the rich furs and soft blankets that The Bull slept in, closing his eyes and sighing as if he’d burrow into the bed roll if he could. Once it seemed like he was comfortable, The Bull went to fetch a healer to ensure he was as healthy as possible when suddenly Dorian reached out and grasped his arm. “Don’t,” he pleaded with him, a desperate note to his voice, “don’t go.”

The Iron Bull was torn, wanting to grab a healer for his lover and yet not wanting to leave him to do so, especially with his plea. He needn’t have left as it was, as it seemed the healer had been watching for them and ducked into the tent before The Bull could articulate why he was needing to leave, a soft, sad smile on her face. She knelt by the bedroll, taking off her bag and pulling out a few vials before she spoke. “I’m sure you don’t remember me, my Lord. My name is Ravenna, I was …”

“… with the Mage Rebellion that the Inquisition allied with,” Dorian finished for her. “I remember seeing you in the library quite often. Forgive me, I don’t recall where you said you were from originally.”

“Kirkwall,” she replied softly. That was all she needed to say, they all well knew the atrocities suffered by mages in that particular Circle.

Dorian deftly side-stepped any uncomfortable subjects as he simply replied, “Ah, well I’m glad to see it seems you’ve landed well on your feet after the Inquisition.”

“Yes sir,” she replied, gathering healing energy in her palms before sweeping it over his body. “I was never one to like being cooped up all the time. Now that I’ve had a taste of it, I’ve loved travelling with the Chargers. I’ve been to so many places I never would have before.” Her eyes shone with an admiration of her fellow companions that settled into a warm feeling in The Bull’s chest. He’d been a little hesitant over including an obvious mage with the group – Dalish always kept her abilities on the down low, after all – but Krem and the others had vouched for her and in the end he’d been glad to have included her. While they already had good healers with them, Ravenna’s skill surpassed theirs by leaps and bounds. The circumstances of her learning what she did was unfortunate – forced to in order to heal what abuse she could that was suffered at the hands of Templars – but she yearned to put her knowledge to good use for once.

+

They all fell silent as she worked her magic, giving Dorian a few potions and letting it work in sync with the healing energy she fed into his body. The Magister relaxed, eyes closing and expression going slack as it swept over him, taking care of any injuries or aches or pains he’d developed since his imprisonment, and even a few that had been present beforehand. Her skills were more than advanced, their effect far-reaching, and he had to admit he was impressed that a Circle mage had developed at such a level, considering how much they were limited. Despite such limitations, she had excelled, and he felt quite comfortable submitting to her expertise.

Of course, anyone The Bull recruited was good, as far as he was concerned.

Ravenna took her time, ensuring that anything she could heal was indeed healed, and once she was done, she left a few potions with them, advised a bland diet so as to not upset his stomach, and then took her leave of them. Truly, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to eat anything, despite the way his belly growled. The one thing in all of Thedas he wanted was sitting right beside him, and for once it wasn’t a hallucination or a dream, it was the real deal. The Iron Bull sat there, stoic and silent, single eye sweeping over him, and Dorian felt a flush wash over him. He knew he looked like shit. He felt like shit. His lover seeing him in such a state left him disheartened and embarrassed, even though he’d spent the last weeks wishing to see him again. Now that the wish was made real, other bits of reality started to settle in … like the fact that his hair was out of control, his beard dishevelled, not a speck of makeup on him, body wasted away due to poor treatment … he felt a poor prize for his Amatus to claim, though he tried to deflect with humour as he licked his lips, cleared his throat, and said, “I’m glad you were able to recognise me, I’m sure I look quite different than you remember last.”

The Bull snorted. “I’d recognise you anywhere, Dorian.”

The Magister’s throat suddenly constricted as their eyes met, the intense gaze of The Iron Bull settling on him. “I-I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? What are you sorry for?”

“I should have been more careful, more vigilant. If only I’d been paying better attention, I …”

His Amatus would not hear it, interrupting him with, “… they were determined to snatch you. They would have done it then, or they would have found another way.”

“If I foiled them at least once, Maeveris and I would have unravelled this ourselves and taken care of it before it turned into … this …”

“Or, more likely, they would have targeted her, too, and killed her out of principle before taking you anyway.” The Bull shifted before he continued, “These imaginary scenarios don’t change what happened. It’s better not to dwell on them.” This was a concept that The Bull knew well, that he’d expressed before. When under reeducation after Seheron, he’d been burdened by guilt, guilt over the lives lost under his command, during his watch. Just like then, however, there was little else that could have been done differently, and nothing to be done in hindsight, and Dorian understood this was what he was trying to impart. They could bat about scenarios until the druffalo came home, but what was done was done, and now they both had to move on from it.

Taking a deep breath, Dorian quelled any anxiety that crept up as he posited, “Bull, would it … would it be too much to ask for some water to bathe with?”

The barest hint of a grin teased at the Tal-Vashoth’s lips. “There he is.” Rising, he told him, “Stay there, I’ll be back with water and some food.”

Dorian didn’t even protest, didn’t put up a fight against the mother henning he knew was going to come. Instead, he nodded and waved him off, watching as he ducked through the flaps of the tent before turning and burying his face in the furs and blankets. There, right there, was the scent he’d been craving, been needing for so long. It was rich and deep, musky and earthy, and Dorian pulled everything around him even tighter just to be surrounded by the unique presence of The Iron Bull, revelling in the very thing he thought he’d never experience again. Though his heart pounded, it settled in his chest, and while during the beginning of their relationship he hadn’t known what to make of that, he now knew well what it meant.

He was home.


	5. Chapter 5

_“Absolutely not.”_

Dorian crossed his arms, frowning in a way that The Bull found endearing and adorable more than anything else, but he resisted the urge to grin in response. This was a serious discussion, and he would maintain his composure for the duration. Self-control was a large part of the Qun’s teachings, and The Bull found that even outside of it, some of the training did stick. So as much as he wanted to soften and chuckle at the mage’s response, he remained stoic, his own arms crossed as he stood his ground on the issue. “It’s not up for discussion, Dorian. You were kidnapped near your own home, would have been killed if we hadn’t been right on your trail. You’re not going back to Minrathous without me.”

“Yes, because having a large Qunari with me _definitely_ won’t draw more attention my way,” Dorian sneered.

“You like attention.”

The mage scoffed. “Just because I do doesn’t mean you have to say it,” he mumbled haughtily. “Besides, I get quite enough as it is.”

“Clearly.”

“Oh for Maker’s sake,” Dorian exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “Do you have any idea what they would do to you in Tevinter? In Minrathous? Just because you aren’t Ben-Hassrath anymore doesn’t mean they wouldn’t want to extract as much information from you as they could, and they would make it as painful as possible.” Shaking his head, he refused to give any ground either as he insisted, “I cannot have you put yourself on the line in such a way.”

“But putting yourself on the line is fine?”

“Yes! Because I knew what I signed up for with the Inquisition and the Lucerni! I got sloppy, I admit, but I know better and I won’t be as lax as I was before.”

The Bull wasn’t giving up, however. “You say that now, but what about in six months? A year? What about when your enemies lay so low for long enough that you get lulled into a false sense of security?”

“It won’t happen again.”

The Tal-Vashoth took a deep breath and shook his head. “Once was one time too many. I cannot allow it to happen again. And I won’t.”

Dorian groaned, reaching up to rub his face, disturbing the carefully coiffed moustache and beard that he’d finally wrested into some semblance of order. He was in a desperate need of a cut and shave, or so he insisted, though The Iron Bull thought the extra length and hair was quite fetching. After a long pause, he finally said, “Bull, as much as I would love to have you by my side, I simply can’t have you accompany me back home.”

The Iron Bull fixed him with a stare. “I told you, it’s not up for discussion.”

Sighing, the mage pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit of his when he was annoyed or frustrated and trying to contain said frustration as he worked through a situation. “If you come back with me, you will only make me a bigger target.”

“It seems you’re already a pretty big target.”

Dorian snorted. “Not really, not compared to the upper echelons of the Magisterium, certainly.”

“But big enough to get yourself snatched.”

Frowning, he seemed as if he was desperately trying to appear nonchalant, but the way he tense his shoulders and kept his spine straight belied the tension beneath the surface to the former Ben-Hassrath. “This isn’t the first time someone tried it, you know. Just the first – and last – time they were successful.”

The Iron Bull clenched his fist and tried to breathe slowly through his nose, but the news that this was old hat to Dorian had his blood heated. “It’s what?”

“I said it’s not the first time.”

The growl was completely involuntary. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Dorian smirked. “Amatus, it’s Tevinter. If someone isn’t trying to assassinate you, then you aren’t doing anything worthy of note.”

Red started to colour the outside of The Bull’s vision, and he shook his head to keep the bloodlust at bay. His breathing exercises did little to help settle him, and before he realised it he was pacing in the limited space of the tent, his body tensed and ready to fight even though there was no enemy to fight. Not now, anyway. He needed some space, he needed some fresh air, he needed to punch something until his knuckles bled. Before he stepped out of the tent, however, he pointed at his mage lover and told him, his voice low and dangerous, “This settles it, I’m not leaving you again.”

He barely even heard the long-suffering sigh as he pushed aside the tent flap and stormed outside.

+

“Fasta vass,” Dorian swore under his breath. Though he’d been trying to allay The Iron Bull’s fears, he’d only stoked the flames more until they now burned white hot. Running his fingers through his newly tamed hair, he contemplated just what he was going to do now. There was absolutely no way he could allow The Iron Bull to return with him to Minrathous, but the Tal-Vashoth seemed unwilling to consider any other possibility. And while it would have been nice to have his Amatus with him, the risk to both of them was simply too great. Unfair, yes, but such was their lives. And Dorian preferred to focus on the positive, that he’d even found and fallen for the hulking warrior spy and that they were even given opportunities to be together beyond a sending crystal, like their border tavern rendezvous or their meetings at one of the Pavus’ vacation homes near Nevarra. He wanted more, of course, but it just wasn’t possible. Perhaps if he retired one day he could permanently move away from Minrathous, away from the plotting and scheming of Tevinter proper, but that was a long way off yet and he still had much to do in the meantime.

He almost wanted to follow The Bull, even though he knew that his lover needed some space. He felt responsible, still, for all the stress and the trouble he’d put everyone through with his carelessness, and while he knew he couldn’t directly alleviate it with a few words, he felt utterly useless just standing there doing nothing. His fingers fell through his hair and traced the chain that held his sending crystals around his neck, a subconscious habit that he’d grown into ever since Halamshiral when he’d given one each to both The Iron Bull and the Inquisitor.

It hit him, then, like a bolt of lightening. While she wasn’t a mage, Katari Adaar was quite brilliant in her own right, far more than her initial, somewhat brutish appearance might suggest. She often used such assumptions to her advantage, to learn much before swooping in on her enemy, silent and swift despite her stature. When he’d first met her in Redcliffe’s Chantry, he’d thought her the typical strong, silent type, though she quickly blew away all his expectations with her sarcastic wit. And later, of course, she showed him a soft, sweet side reserved only for her friends. She was a host of contradictions, and yet she was perfectly comfortable with who she was and what she did, something Dorian admired her for. As he pulled out the sending crystal that corresponded to his friend, he just knew that she would have something for him, some words of comfort or a suggestion on how to handle the situation as a whole. She was always full of ideas, that one.

Activating the crystal, he needed only to speak her name and she responded almost immediately. “Dorian! You’re safe!”

“Yes, yes, heroic rescue and all.”

He could practically feel the relief radiating from her end. “When I got the raven, I feared the worst. I would have joined him, you know, but I was in southern Ferelden with Thom and some Wardens at the time. It would have taken me far too long to even catch up.”

“Understood. I honestly didn’t even expect him to come after me, I couldn’t even give him but scant information.”

The bark of laughter from her end was instant. “You really expected The Iron Bull to just give up? And here I thought you were intelligent, Dorian.”

He harrumphed, knowing she was mostly teasing, but in hindsight she was, of course, correct. “I couldn’t even pinpoint exactly where I was and I was moved shortly after, and quite erratically at that. I didn’t expect him to be able to follow.”

“And since when has that ever stopped him?”

Dorian sighed. “True.” Shaking his head, he realised this conversation was quickly getting off track and he needed to focus. “Well, all that matters now is that I’m fine, nice and rescued and everything. Quite a dramatic damsel in distress tale that I’m sure Varric would just eat up.”

“Oh I’m sure. Don’t be surprised if he tries to buy the rights to the whole story. Market it as the angst of forbidden love or something like that.”

Suppressing a groan, he rolled his eyes as he mumbled, “Don’t speak it into existence, please. Anyway, despite the issue at hand being resolved, I have another that has cropped up in its wake.”

Katari was silent on the line for a moment before she finally replied with a neutral, “Oh?”

“Yes. Apparently, because of the kidnapping and all that nasty business, he wants to return with me to Minrathous.”

A flurry of curses flowed from the other end of the crystal, in a couple of different languages and in such fluency it surprised even Dorian. After the current subsided, she asked in common, “And he knows how dangerous that could be for him?”

“Of course. He still insists.”

“Because of course he does.” A long sigh, and then, “I understand where he’s coming from, but his bright idea is waltzing back into the heart of Tevinter with you?”

“Apparently.”

“And so you’re wanting to pick my brain on how to convince him to not return with you?”

“Clever as always, my friend.”

“That’s quite the predicament. How did he … react? When you explained why he couldn’t go with you?”

“We had an argument, I tried to explain the realities of being a Magister, he got angry that I didn’t tell him about some previous attempts on my life and then stormed out.”

“That sounds about right … wait, what? Previous attempts on your life? Why didn’t I hear about this?”

Dorian sighed, fearing he was about to go through round two. “Because it’s just how it is in Tevinter, my dear.”

“I know as much, but I’d still like to hear. I have connections, even there. I could help you.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but I have it under control. Usually, at least. I admit, I got sloppy this last time, but it won’t happen again.”

A heavy sigh, and then, “I don’t know, Dorian. To be honest, I’m not sure there’s going to be a way to get him to leave your side after telling him something like that.”

That was definitely not what he wanted to hear, and he groaned, wondering just who he had to convince and what he had to say in order to return to Minrathous alone. Over the crystal, he heard a soft though distinct voice ask to speak with him. He immediately pinpointed where Katari must have been in Skyhold at the moment as it seemed the crystal was handed to the other speaker and they introduced themselves. “Magister Pavus? It’s me, Dagna. I’m the one who was always bothering you with obscure magical questions …”

A soft smile spread across his face as he indeed remembered her well. Her magical curiousities were a bit odd for a Dwarf, but they served her well as she was able to craft incredible things with the knowledge she gleaned and gathered. “Of course, it is a pleasure to speak with you again.”

“And you, too, Magister. I’m sorry but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with the Inquisitor and your dilemma.” Before he could even ask, she assured, “I won’t be telling anyone, of course, I know how to keep secrets. But I’m wondering if you’re approaching the issue from the wrong direction?”

He wondered where her implication was leading as he asked, “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, The Iron Bull’s issue is not being able to be by your side to protect you, and your issue is his safety being compromised by being openly in the heart of Tevinter. But what if there was a way he could be summoned to your side so that you can return alone but have him available?”

A pause hung in the air as he processed this question. Certainly, that would likely satisfy his lover, and it would be nice to be able to have him by his side in an instant – for more than just to protect him – but how they would be able to pull it off he was still unsure. “That sounds like it could work, but I would have no idea how to implement something like that.”

“But I might.” He could hear the smile in Dagna’s voice as she explained, “I’ve been working on some similar ideas with an associate of mine, and I think we could come up with something for you. I was actually planning on travelling to meet up with her, I could always move up the trip dates and you can meet me there. If, that is, you think The Bull would be amenable?”

Dorian paused, looking at the tent flap, silent and still. He didn’t like this, didn’t like fighting. He wanted them to get back to the way things were, and if that was impossible, he wanted to get as close as he could. While it wasn’t what The Bull wanted, of this he was sure he could convince him, at least far easier than the concept of Dorian returning to Minrathous well and truly alone. And so he finally answered, “I think he would be.”

“Excellent!” the Arcanist exclaimed. “My associate’s name is Merrill, and she’s in Kirkwall. When you get there, go to the Alienage in Lowtown and ask for the Dalish Elf. I’ll be there with her.”

“And Dorian?” he heard Katari begin, undoubtedly taking her crystal back, “I’ll send word ahead to Varric, you can stay in my estate while you’re there.”

“Are you sure?”

The Vashoth rogue laughed. “Of course, it’s only sitting empty right now.”

“Alright then, it seems like we have a plan,” Dorian said with a wide grin.

“That we do, my friend. That we do.”


	6. Chapter 6

The Iron Bull suppressed the urge to wrinkle his nose as they pulled into the harbour of Kirkwall. The smell wasn’t anything particularly offensive, merely the result of stagnant sea water and the lack of wind access to sweep away the cloying scent of dead fish, barrels of spices, and other musty cargo that had been in damp holds for weeks on end. Stench was still stench, even as standard as it was for any port, but he kept his face schooled into an impassive, neutral expression. No need to make people any more uncomfortable than was necessary, and considering the city’s last run in with Qunari …

It was strange, in a way, to walk streets that the previous Arishok had walked, to observe the same as he had. While the Qun had offered him some stability in the midst of the chaos, it could only offer so much in Kirkwall, a city where some of the worst habits of southern Thedas seemed to coalesce and concentrate. While The Bull had been thrown into the fires of Seheron for ten long years – and then into Orlais and the rest of southern Thedas after reeducation – he wondered how he might have fared in Kirkwall during the height of unrest. He would have liked to think he could have done better than the former Arishok, but then again he was now Tal-Vashoth, and so it seemed he wasn’t truly worthy to speak on it. At least the Arishok had died an honourable death, facing down the _basalit-an_ apostate Nymeria Hawke in a duel.

He shook his head to banish the thoughts. He had long come to terms with his exile, and if anything was grateful for it. If his ties with the Ben-Hassrath hadn’t been severed, he would have been ordered to join the Qunari as they attempted to execute the Dragon’s Breath operation and that … that would have been indescribable, the hurt that he would have caused with both his lover and one of his closest friends. He would have had to fight them, and either he would have killed them or they would have killed him, and either outcome was something he preferred not to think of. If anything, Gatt had done him a favour, reporting the mission’s failure and his role in it, which lead to his expulsion. The Iron Bull had lived for so long with his foot in two worlds, he’d long known that he would eventually have to choose. Of course, he’d figured it would have gone the other way around, with him returning to the Qun and abandoning all else. While unexpected, he was now glad that it had turned out the way it did.

So distracted was he in his thoughts, it seemed that he suddenly looked up and they were entering the Viscount’s manor. Dorian strode through the large double doors, confident and sure, like he knew exactly where he was supposed to be and that place was here. He’d always operated under this particular aura, so sure of himself and his surroundings even if he wasn’t. Especially if he wasn’t, because nobody would question someone that confident, and nobody ever did. The Iron Bull had operated under a similar principle at times, especially during certain jobs. Act like you’re supposed to be there and nobody will think you aren’t. And it worked. Usually. Even if it didn’t, a well-placed headbutt did the trick.

The Iron Bull suppressed a grin as Dorian sashayed into Varric’s office, waving the Seneschal away with precisely zero concern. Varric seemed downright giddy to see some familiar, friendly faces as he practically jumped to his feet when they entered, a broad smile on his face. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the adorable duo! And fresh off a daring rescue, from what I hear. Speaking of, would you mind …”

“No,” Dorian immediately deferred. “The story is not up for sale.”

Varric rolled his eyes as he motioned for them to follow him, swiftly changing the subject with, “Come with me, I have the key to Adaar’s manor.” Chuckling, he added, “I won’t be able to call her that for much longer.”

“Oh?” Dorian inquired innocently, though The Bull knew he was listening intently.

“Yeah. In the same letter she used to tell me about you coming, she told me Rainier finally popped the question during their little expedition to the Korcari Wilds. Expect an invitation in the coming months.”

Dorian scoffed good-naturedly. “I’m even too happy for her to be offended she didn’t tell me when we spoke over the sending crystal.”

Varric, of course, had a retort for everything. “Well you do tend to overshadow just about everything, Sparkler.”

The mage waved him off, mocking offense as they all followed Varric out into Hightown and through the twisting paths that lead to the estate that he had given the Inquisitor. The Bull endured quite a few intense stares – and more than a few glares – but the fact that Varric accompanied him meant that no one moved to harass or accost him. For now, at least. He filed away a map in his head of the side streets they went down, noting which ones would be emptier and easier to slip down unnoticed so as to avoid most of the wider, open spaces where the potential to be waylaid increased. Not that it would be a problem he couldn’t handle, but it was also basic courtesy that he not make a mess in his friend’s city if at all possible.

The estate wasn’t the dusty abode that The Iron Bull had been expecting, knowing that Katari had rarely had the chance to visit. Instead, it was clean and bright and even decorated, though Dorian rolled his eyes at the décor. “Of course she would decorate with those garish valances and dragon bone. Despite my influence, she’s always had a taste for the savage.”

The Bull chuckled. “Oh really? I thought it was you who had a taste for the savage …” he teased him with a nudge to his ribs.

Dorian suppressed a groan, making no further remarks as Varric lead them through the halls. “Now, you lovebirds won’t be totally alone, Dagna’s already here and she may decide to set up shop here with Merrill instead of the Alienage. More space, and all.” After showing them to some guest quarters and allowing them the chance to unload their bags, he offered, “If you like, I can show you through Lowtown and take you to the Alienage.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, I wouldn’t want to interrupt any important Viscount business,” Dorian deferred with a twinkle in his eye that suggested he knew of Varric’s real intentions and was simply teasing him.

It worked and Varric groaned. “C’mon, Sparkler, I rarely get such a nice break from the office – and Bran in particular. Besides, while the streets have gotten better, I think people around here are still a little leery of …” he didn’t finish his sentence, merely looked The Iron Bull up and down that plainly told what he meant.

The mage shrugged. “Well, I suppose, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience for you.”

Varric grinned widely. “Not at all.”

+

Dorian found himself wishing for a handkerchief splashed with a little cologne as they descended through Lowtown. The smell of fish and stagnant water mixed with a distinct odor of sewer and the rot of damp wood and perhaps a dead varmint or two left to linger instead of being cleaned up. He supposed the residents were simply used to it and had gone smell-blind to the particular scents that drifted through Kirkwall, but he had never been there before and his eyes watered at times when he got a particularly strong waft. He indeed hoped that Dagna and this Merrill would decide to work at Katari’s estate up in Hightown, where the elevation was high enough that some of the stronger, more cloying smells weren’t quite so strong.

Their destination was in the Elven Alienage, nestled in a corner of Lowtown that separated it from the rest of Kirkwall’s citizens. And there, tucked to the side, was the door that lead them to what Dorian hoped was a true solution to their problem. Varric knocked, three loud raps with the back of his knuckles, and a lithe Elven woman with intricate vallaslin answered the door. “Oh! I didn’t know you would be coming ‘round this early.” Opening the door wider to let them in, she continued muttering, “Pardon the mess, I swear my house is usually clean!”

A clear laughed rang from the other side of the long room they stepped into. “You know, you say that every time, and yet every time I visit there’s clutter everywhere,” Dagna teased.

The Elven woman blushed, but before she could open her mouth, Varric issuing an admonishment. “Now, now, Dagna, no teasing Daisy. She’s too adorable when she blushes.” Which, of course, made her blush even harder and Varric winked at her as he moved to introduce them all. “Merrill, this is Dorian and The Iron Bull. Dorian, Bull, this is my good friend, Merrill. As much as I’d like to stay and chat, I’m pretty sure Bran would have a druffalo …”

Dagna waved him off as she never even left the table she hunched over. “Go on, then, wouldn’t want your Seneschal to get his knickers in a twist.” She approached them as Varric left, a soft chuckle in her voice as she commented, “Well, good to see you two made it here in one piece. I’m hoping we’ll have enough space to work, here, but we may need to take the Inquisitor up on her offer and move everything to her estate.”

“What’s wrong with my house?” asked Merrill with a rather innocent air about her that made her downright adorable, and Dorian resisted the urge to point out every little failing he could spy – and a few he didn’t but could guess at – because he didn’t want to see disappointment in her eyes. It wasn’t that she was living in outright squalor, more that the space she had didn’t lend itself well to storing what she needed. Bookshelves and tables overflowed with books and parchment, worn and tattered and dog-eared, some of the spines cracked down the middle. It almost made him recoil in horror, as he was quite overscrupulous about how he kept his own library – not to mention how clean and neat he liked his own work area to be – but Merrill seemed at home in the chaos. That and she was also going to be helping them, and he didn’t feel it to be good form to insult her, even though her proclivities went against his own senses.

The Arcanist, at least, broke it to her gently, deferring the mess in favour of proclaiming, “We need some more space, if we’re gonna be doing what I think we’re gonna be doing. I also happen to know she’s had a forge installed, which I’m definitely going to need anyway. Might as well have everything in one place, then, instead of coming and going between here and Hightown.”

Instead of disheartened, Merrill seemed to accept the explanation. “Alright, then, I suppose that makes sense. I’ll gather up all the tomes we’ll need. Just … give me a moment, I have to remember where I put them.” And with that, she scampered off, checking piles and stacks and tucking needed papers and texts in a satchel. Merrill and Dagna seemed quite an … odd pair, to say the least. But, truth be told, Dorian had worked with odder in the Inquisition, and they’d all gotten on quite well. And since he knew and trusted Dagna – and knew and trusted the opinion of Dagna, Varric, and the Inquisitor – he would therefore endevour to put the same trust in Merrill as well.

He would just keep a careful eye on her if she drifted toward his own books.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a bit of a chore to move everything from Merrill’s lowly Alienage house to Katari Adaar’s sprawling Hightown estate, but between the four of them they made quick enough work of it. “I don’t know why you stay in the Alienage,” Dagna remarked. “You know Varric would help get you something up here where it’s bigger and safer.”

“Oh, I know,” the odd Elven woman replied, her voice soft and slightly sing-song. “But I like it there. I like watching the children play and I have enough room to suit me. I never had as much room with the aravels. Plus the tree … it just feels more like home around the tree.”

“You could always plant a garden. There’s lots of estates with gardens,” Dagna pointed out.

“True, I suppose.” She shrugged as she brushed off the thought. “I finally got the hang of the neighbourhood, though. I haven’t gotten lost in a while now! I’d have to carry around that ball of twine again if I moved.”

“Yeah, but Varric’s protection costs would go down,” Dagna mumbled, partly to herself.

“Hmm?” Merrill hummed in question.

The Arcanist shook her head. “Nothing, never mind.”

They set up shop in one of the large ground floor rooms that looked like it hadn’t been specifically set aside for anything. There were some tall bookcases that housed all of the reference materials they would need, as well as a few desks and tables of varying heights and sizes that would suit them all to their own workspace. And, perhaps a feature The Bull liked the most, a plush chaise lounge he could sit in and watch the action from, since this was far from any expertise he possessed. Dorian chuckled at seeing him sitting there, wondering what his lover might look like decorating his own furniture in the Pavus estate, but he quickly shook that image from his mind. No use in getting distracted, especially this early.

Though, from the look The Iron Bull shot him, it seemed his Amatus had a similar idea in mind. Or, at least, an idea of bending him over said furniture, the idea of which brought a blush to the Magister’s cheeks and he had to clear his throat and his mind in order to concentrate on some of the research that Dagna and Merrill had put together so far.

He could see the direction of Dagna’s thinking as he looked over the books and papers provided, as the bulk of the research provided by the Dalish mage was centred entirely on eluvians. An interesting focus of study, as he couldn’t recall anyone who so fervently dug so deeply into something so abstract about the ancient Elvhenan. Most scholars tended to stick to architecture or different aspects of society or even general history, or rather whatever could be uncovered. Eluvians were a fairly new discovery as well, and he was quite surprised to find as much information on them as there was. He supposed that the tables and bookshelves around him likely held the sum total knowledge of this particular facet of Arlathan in all of Thedas. He still wasn’t completely sure which direction Dagna wanted to take, but for the time being he settled in and did as she asked as he read through the information to find and condense how the abilities of the eluvians were put into and implemented in the mirrors themselves. It would take hours, days perhaps to collect all of the information that Merrill had put together over the years, but considering some of the mundane, monotonous tasks he performed under Alexius at times, Dorian felt himself well up to the challenge.

+

“Well, it seems simple enough, then,” Dorian mused, running the tips of his fingers along the barest edge of his immaculately styled moustache. The Bull paid an equal amount of attention to both his words and his motion, allowing himself a brief imagining of what those slender fingers and supple lips could do before snapping himself back into the present moment.

“The concept is, yes. It’s just properly incorporating the design into something that will actually work for the both of you,” Dagna added. “Merrill’s knowledge of eluvians is what will really come in handy, here.”

The Elven mage crinkled up her nose in thought as she murmured, “I’m not sure it will work on something not an eluvian, I’ve only researched the properties of the mirrors themselves. Putting the same properties on another object would require …” her eyes suddenly brightened, “… an enchantment!”

“I’m all up for experimenting,” Dagna said. “It’s gonna take some time and trial and error, though.”

Dorian sighed, and The Iron Bull knew what he was thinking … Would he even be able to spare the time? He had been gone for weeks now, and while Maeveris was excellent at swaying suspicion and redirecting concerns, she wouldn’t be able to bluff away the truth of Dorian’s disappearance for too much longer. The Magister couldn’t afford to be seen as weak, but despite that he still wasn’t willing to allow his Kadan to return home without him or without a way to easily summon him should he be needed.

Merrill, it seemed, had a plan. “I know someone who can help with that. He and his father travel all over Thedas, but they should be near Kirkwall! I’ll go send a message right now, he’ll be able to help us, I’m sure of it!” And with that, she gracefully bounded out of the room, only to call out a few seconds later, “Wait, where are the messenger ravens kept again?”

Dagna rolled her eyes and chuckled, “I’d better go help her.”

And just like that, the two lovers were left alone, and silence filled the gap for a few minutes until Dorian cleared his throat. “So, this … charm … amulet … you’ll actually be fine with wearing it, then?”

The Bull grunted and simply nodded.

Dorian hummed. “Are you sure? I seem to remember at the Winter Palace, during that whole debacle, that you were quite opposed to the eluvians we used to track the Dragon’s Breath operation and Fen’Harel.”

He sighed and leaned back on the coach as he regarded his Kadan, leaning with his hip against one of the desks, arms folded elegantly across his chest. It was true, at the time he’d been quite unnerved by the ancient Elven way of travel – the Crossroads, as it had been so named, reminded him too much of the Fade, and that was definitely a memory he didn’t desire to dredge up – but now he found his mind … well, perhaps not completely changed. But if this magical device would allow him to immediately be at his lover’s side in a moment’s notice, then it would be worth it. Besides, he already had the sending crystal on him, what was one more magic trinket, really?

“Well?” Dorian verbally nudged him, and The Bull raised a hand to rub the back of his neck as he considered his answer.

“I’m not excited about it, but it’s a means to an end.”

“And it would be amenable to you, then, yes? To send me back to Minrathous alone so long as we both had this trinket?”

He sighed. “Yes, it would.”

The smile that spread across Magister Pavus’ face was downright blinding, and The Bull considered that if he was struck blind immediately afterwards, it was well worth it. The way it curved his lips upward even further as it took on a cheeky tone complemented well the mage’s next sentiment. “And, you know, we wouldn’t have to wait so long to see each other only to steal a few hours in a border town inn …”

Whatever other lecherous things he was meaning to torment him with was cut short as Dagna and Merrill reappeared, both of them quite pleased. “The message has been sent,” the Arcanist confirmed. “While we wait, I can craft the pendants and Merrill can prepare what she can for the enchantment, so we’re not just sitting on our thumbs here.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Dorian exclaimed. “Much as I needed a vacation, this was not quite what I had in mind.”


	8. Chapter 8

A messenger raven had been sent back, informing Merrill that Bodahn Feddic’s caravan was due for Kirkwall in the next two days and that his son, Sandal, was over the moon at the prospect of a new and unique enchantment. In the meantime, Dagna got to work on fashioning two separate but identical amulets, one for Dorian and one for The Bull, both fairly small and innocuous, though large enough to accommodate the intricate carvings on the front that smacked of some Dalish influence on Merrill’s part. It was subtle enough that it would easily get lost amoungst the copious amounts of jewelry that Dorian normally wore, so there wasn’t much concern from him over that. The Bull, however, knew Krem would tease him endlessly over it.

Small price.

Once the Dwarven merchant and his son arrived at Katari Adaar’s estate, Dagna and Merrill immediately began showing Sandal their plans, their research, and the pendants that had been made while waiting. The young Dwarf studied the notes and the jewelry, taking so long that The Bull wondered if he was comprehending what was in front of him and if this whole thing was even truly possible in the first place or just some flight of fancy.

After a long, tense silence, he finally looked up, smiled wide, and said only one word. “Enchantment!”

Merrill shifted her weight on her feet, her face brightening in excitement. “So you think you can do it, then?”

He nodded. “Enchantment.”

Dagna chuckled. “Well, you heard him. Let’s get started!”

Both Dorian and The Bull were shooed out of the study room, and more than happy to, leaving the task to the experts. They gathered instead in the lounge area, Dorian procuring a glass of wine from the kitchen as The Bull munched on the snacks that Katari had evidently stocked in anticipation of his arrival, considering they were those spicy sweet nuts from the ball at Halamshiral that he specifically raved about to her. “So,” The Bull began, in between bites, “excited to get back to Minrathous?”

Dorian sighed. “Indubitably. Maeveris has extraordinary talent, but even she can only keep the dogs at bay for so long before they lunge at her throat.”

The Bull grunted. “Shouldn’t be too much longer, then.”

His flat tone didn’t fool his lover. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually enjoyed this whole affair?”

He snorted, and then, “What, the kidnapping? The worrying night and day? The travel from one end of Thedas to the other? Hell no. But … anytime we’re together, Kadan, is time that I treasure.”

Dorian quirked an eyebrow. “Even if we fight?”

A grin began to spread across his face. “Of course. The sending crystal is great, I love to hear your voice, but …” he shrugged, not trying to get too sentimental too early in the morning, “… just not the same, ya know?”

The mage nodded, finishing off his glass of wine and pouring another. “I know,” he replied softly.

Silence passed between them for an uncountable number of minutes before The Bull finally said, “I’m sorry.”

Dorian’s eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise. “Sorry? Whatever for?”

The Iron Bull wasn’t exactly keen on apologies, but an honourable man admitted when he was wrong, and he knew he was, as much as he wanted to excuse his behaviour or write it off. “For jumping on you like that, for being stubborn and insisting on you not returning alone, for trying to control you …” sighing, he ran a hand over his face before he continued, “… it’s not exactly one of my prouder moments. I let my emotions get the best of me.”

His lover nodded. “Understandable, however, considering the circumstances. And all of the fuss you put up has lead us here, to this new discovery we’re at the precipice on.” Chuckling, he added with a wink, “I mean, really, if this works it would benefit us both quite nicely.”

“Oh?” The Bull replied playfully, knowing full well exactly what he was referring to.

The grin that Dorian shot him was downright sinful, and though he opened his mouth to continue the conversation – one that would no doubt lead down dirtier and dirtier roads the further they walked down – they were interrupted by a rather familiar voice commenting rather amusedly, “Availing yourself quite well of my home, I see.”

Though she tried to look stern and imposing, the twinkle in her eye and the way the edges of her lips twitched as they yearned to break into a grin gave her away. Katari Adaar was never that good at hiding her true emotions or intention, she was an open book. And sure enough, the smile that had been threatening to break through finally did, and she embraced both The Iron Bull and Dorian in turn before settling on the couch next to Dorian, Thom making himself at home on a bench near her as he nodded to both of them. The Iron Bull couldn’t deny … it felt good to all be together again. They had all been the Inquisitor’s core group, the companions that she would immediately tap if she felt she needed the extra security of her lover and close friends. They had all supported one another through the ups and downs of their lives – whether seemingly small and insignificant or large and overarching – and all of their relationships had endured the trials they’d walked together.

“So,” Dorian began as he leaned back into the couch, his wine glass refilled after he’d fetched one for Katari, “I hear some congratulations are in order?”

The Vashoth Inquisitor froze, glass halfway to her lips, and her expression turned genuinely apologetic as she replied, “I’m so sorry, I mean to tell you, but …”

The Magister waved off her concern. “Understandable that it would slip your mind, given the circumstances. However,” and he waggled an eyebrow at her, “I do expect an invitation, my dear.”

Katari threw her head back in laughter. “You expect only an invitation? My dear Magister, if I have my way, you’ll be in the wedding party.”

The Bull chuckled at the look of surprise and consternation that crossed Dorian’s face. “See, Kadan, should’ve kept your mouth shut instead of trying to tease her.”

She threw him a pointed look as she grinned. “And what makes you think I don’t want you in the wedding party as well?”

It was intended to knock him off balance and make him mildly uncomfortable, but two could play that game as he leaned back in the chair. “If you think that’s wise … hell yes! Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. Make those Orlesians real uncomfortable.”

While it wasn’t quite the outcome she’d been expecting, she erupted in a fit of giggles as Thom rolled his eyes. “Well, it should be entertaining, at least,” the faux Warden commented.

“Have you no say in the wedding?” The Bull inquired in a teasing tone.

Thom grinned and shook his head. “Whatever the Lady wants, the Lady gets.”

Katari nudged him with a foot. “Hey, I’m no Lady!”

“You are to me,” he shot back at her.

Dorian groaned from his spot on the sofa. “Oh please, don’t go all lovey dovey on us now, I don’t think I could take all the sappy sweetness at this hour.”

“You just mean you’re not drunk enough,” Katari commented.

“Precisely,” he replied, draining the rest of his glass of wine.

Before the conversation could progress any further, however, an excited Dagna rushed in and ushered them all back into the study so that they could see the results for themselves. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised with what we’ve been able to achieve!” she exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement.

Katari just raised an eyebrow, oblivious to what they had been working on. “And what is that, exactly?”

To her eyes – same as The Iron Bull – it looked like just two pendants lying on the table. Lovely, engraved little things, sure, but jewelry all the same. Somehow, though, these two pieces were supposed to enable both Dorian and himself to transport to each other’s side. How, he didn’t know, and quite frankly the exactly mechanics of how it all worked was something he was far from interested in. But Sandal stood there, smiling proudly as he simply said, “Enchantment!”

Merrill giggled. “Exactly, Sandal.” Turning to the rest of them, she explained, “We were able to coalesce the workings of the eluvians with my research, and between Dagna and Sandal, we were able to impart the ability onto these two amulets.”

Dagna explained further, picking up one of them. “You use the engravings to activate them. Stroke here to turn it on, and then stroke this one and then this one in order to make it work. Once these runes have all been activated in proper succession, the wearer is then transported to the vicinity of the other one.”

Something didn’t sit quite as easy with The Iron Bull. “It’s, uh … not too sensitive, is it? I mean, I’m not gonna sit down or be swinging an axe in battle and suddenly …”

“Oh no!” Merrill exclaimed. “The strokes have to be very deliberate, precise, and purposeful. Otherwise, it won’t work.”

“Good. It can’t be too simple, after all. We both have duties to attend to, it just wouldn’t do for one of us to suddenly disappear,” Dorian noted.

The Bull snorted. “With my luck, I’d accidentally activate mine while you were addressing the Magisterium.”

Dorian blanched at the thought. “Maker, no.”

Katari chuckled. “It’d certainly give those stuffy Magisters something to talk about.”

“Nothing good,” Dorian pointed out.

The Iron Bull had moved to pick his up, eyeing it carefully as he turned it over in his hand. He’d already made note of the specific runes to trace in order to activate it and make it work, and for the most part he kept his fingers on the outside. While the front of the amulet had intricate rune work and Dalish designs molded into the metal, the back was smooth and clear, almost like …

Like a mirror. So that’s how they’d gotten it to work, they’d essentially made a tiny mirror and then worked it around so that it could be used like an eluvian. He had to hand it to Dagna and Merrill and Sandal, their work was brilliant, and he wondered briefly what the world would be like should something like this be produced on a massive scale. It could completely change the course of history in Thedas, enabling people to come and go at different points of the world in the blink of an eye. With how the Qunari had utilised the eluvian network for the operation Dragon’s Breath, he shuddered to think how they could use something far more innocuous to carry out any plan of theirs.

For now, though, that concern was shoved to the back of his mind as he considered that now he could pop in to Dorian’s private chambers at any time that he wished. And that thought had a smile growing on his face.

His Kadan fixed him with a pointed stare as he asked, “Well? What do you think?”

The Bull’s smile only deepened as his voice rumbled. “I think these will work out just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandal ex machina!


	9. Chapter 9

Dorian didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to see the skyline of Minrathous. Rising high and sharp against the sky, it was just as gaudy as the upper echelon that inhabited it, the gold-capped buildings easy to see even from afar. Even the breeze that came off the sea picked up the perfumes and spices that seemed to permeate the city, and Dorian’s chest clenched just a little. Despite anything that happened, no matter what he went through, Minrathous was a home to him, and he was always happy to return, circumstances notwithstanding.

He’d been eternally grateful to find a half-way decent barber in Kirkwall, one who had been able to trim up his hair and give him a shave. The beard had been nice, he mused, but one he’d rather have handled by his own personal barber, one whom he’d have to visit for some finishing touches before he met with anyone of importance.

For now, however, he aimed his horse to return to his estate. He’d been away for so long, he could afford to spend a day relaxing in his own home before he returned to his full duties. No one could blame him, certainly, and if they did … well, Dorian would deal with the fallout later. Later being, after he had a proper bath, one with scented oils and scattered rose petals that concluded with a luxurious lotion and perhaps a massage, if a particular servant was available. Anaya always did give the best rub downs he’d ever had. A way to relax and unwind was of utmost import for Magisters, considering the high stress levels of the lives they led, and while many turned to slaves, Dorian preferred paid servants, especially after many a midnight discussion with Katari on freedom and its sacrifices compared to slavery and indentured servitude.

He barely had a chance to get in the door, however, when he was greeted by a gaggle of servants and a few of his students, all overjoyed to see him safe and well upon his return. He wasn’t sure exactly what story Maeveris had been spinning, and so he declined to speak of anything when asked where he’d been, saying only, “We’ll discuss it later, hmm?”

And then there she was, the woman of the hour, Maeveris Tilani, the talented and incomparable Magister who’d kept things running smoothly on the home front for the Lucerni – or, at least, as smooth as they ever ran – in Dorian’s absence. He supposed it was a good thing to know that should anything happen to him (not that he was going to let something like this happen again, mind) that the future of a progressive Tevinter would not simply die on the vine. Mae gave him a cool though genuine smile as she remarked, “Ah, so good to have you come home. I was wondering how long you would tarry.”

Though the servants and students were starting to disperse, they were still well within earshot, and so Dorian opted for a safer, “Apologies, I didn’t anticipate getting held up the way I did.”

Chuckling softly, she moved closer to Dorian, enough so that no one should hear her before she reached out and grasped his hand. “I was worried.” Despite her quiet, casual tone that to others who could hear but not understand her words, it would seem like she was imparting a friendly sentiment. But standing close to her, he could see the way her eyes shone in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and he knew she was just managing to hold back tears. How many tears had she shed over him, one of her closest friends, he wondered? How had she grieved, not knowing if he still lived or whether he would emerge relatively unscathed? Like himself, Mae lived passionately, loved fiercely, and there was no doubt that his sudden disappearance had shaken her, though she would never show it to their enemies. His mind, unable to stop itself, suddenly wondered how he would react, what he would do if their roles were reversed and Mae had been the one snatched instead of himself …

A pang of heartache shot through his chest as he realised the difficulties and hardships that one of his closest friends had suffered in the past months. Having to keep her pain and grief private so as to cover his absence, to not show weakness to their enemies, to appear strong and assured even if she likely felt little of that herself. Covering her hand with his other, he murmured, “I’m sorry. I was careless and foolish. It won’t happen again.”

She squeezed his hand before they parted, her to her duties and Dorian to the baths. His barber was summoned and gave him a truly proper trim up before he spent an overly long soak in one of the large tubs. Anaya was on shift, thankfully, and after one of the most thorough massages he’d had in a long while, he emerged from the baths a completely different man than The Iron Bull had found. From there it was straight to the kitchens to fetch some food, and once he’d eaten his fill, he absconded to his quarters and locked the doors, instructing his staff to leave him be and that he intended to rest after his long journey.

Rest was about the furtherest thing from his mind, however, as he activated his sending crystal and asked, “Are you available?”

A slight whoosh, barely noticeable – a mere draft, really – was all that heralded the appearance of The Iron Bull. A wolfish grin spread across his lover’s face as he told him, “For you, Kadan? Always.”

Their embrace was just as passionate as the night before they left Kirkwall, The Bull wrapping his muscular arms around the smaller mage and pulling him taut to his own body. There was no tease, no pause as he immediately breached Dorian’s mouth with his tongue, dominating his mouth and his body with little effort. And Dorian submitted, suppressing only the whimper that threatened to make its way up and out of his throat as he melted into his lover’s arms. At the start of this whole ordeal, he’d not thought he would be able to experience this once again, the warmth and the love that radiated from his beloved, his Amatus. That such devotion was directed at him still made him wonder, at times. The Iron Bull, however, had well demonstrated that what was between them was not merely words and sex, but genuine and open and honest love, bright and true, just like the fairy tales that he’d grown up on. He’d never thought he could find something like this, had resigned himself to living a life filled with one night stands and discreet affairs to satisfy some physical longing, never enough to truly be fulfilled. And to think he’d not only found it, but found it in a Tal-Vashoth mercenary he met in the Inquisition … the odds had surely been against them, and they’d beaten them soundly.

And now, despite the hardships and the odds, he lead his lover to his own bed for once, The Iron Bull following him with a wicked grin on his face. They said nary a word to each other as Dorian was pushed backward onto the bed, his robes unceremoniously pulled off his body before his lover lowered himself to brush his tongue up the underside of the mage’s awakening cock. Shuddering and biting back a moan, he murmured, “Oil is in the bedside table, top drawer.”

The Bull hummed his acknowledgement as he swallowed his cock, and his head hit the pillows behind him, fist jammed in his mouth to keep noise to a minimum. Even though he’d left strict instructions that he be left alone, best to not tempt fate, especially when this was so new. His Amatus picked up on the hint fairly quickly, and while he didn’t particularly push him like he could, he still swallowed and Dorian felt the tip of his cock hit the back of his throat. He melted into the silken sheets as he muffled a moan, The Iron Bull’s large hands resting against his hips, not holding them there, merely anchoring him. Still, he resisted the urge to thrust, not wanting to give in so easily, so quickly. His stubborn streak was a mile wide, though so was The Bull’s, and it was that regard that they were so evenly matched in. His lover seemingly didn’t want to draw out the act too much longer, however, his hunger seeming to override all else as he parted from Dorian only long enough to fetch the oil and then he was back, swallowing him once more as he oiled up a couple of fingers and pushed them inside the Magister, making sure to spread it around. Dorian wondered if perhaps he would torture him with teasing like he sometimes did, massaging and fingering him to kingdom come until he begged, but not this time. Both of their patience wore thin, and in this new and exciting environment for them, all else was cast aside as The Bull oiled up his own cock and wrapped Dorian’s legs around his waist, lowering himself to claim his Kadan’s lips as he slowly pushed himself inside.

The mouth on his helped to muffle the otherwise ungodly sounds that would have spilled from him to feel The Bull’s not insignificant length penetrate him. It was a burning stretch, quickly replaced by the sweetest feeling of fullness he had ever felt. Many of their trysts were hard and fast and dominating, but this was one of the few times where The Bull didn’t completely take the reigns, where their mutual passion coalesced as he did everything to gently take apart the mage beneath him. Angling his hips just right, Dorian bit his lip to hold back a cry as he purposefully brushed against that spot inside him. The Bull just nuzzled his neck, nipping at the skin, mindful to not leave any marks that would be difficult to cover. One spot in particular, one that generally rested beneath his robes, he latched onto, biting before sucking hard, and he had to act quickly to cover Dorian’s mouth his with hand because there was no holding back the moan from that.

Dorian’s hips canted toward The Bull’s without him even thinking about it, his body well versed in the rhythm they found in each other. And when his Amatus sealed their lips together just as he gripped the mage’s hardened length between them. It took only a handful of strokes before he was spilling, and perhaps a handful more before The Bull finally stilled on top of him.

 _Now this,_ Dorian mused, _I could get used to._ He left his room only a couple of times to fetch some food – ordering a large enough amount for the both of them would be suspicious – but other than those times, he never left his Amatus’ side. While this was not quite the intention of such an enchantment, he wasn’t about to deny himself the benefits. And though he would certainly not want to go through such an imprisonment again, he supposed that in the end, it was well worth it.

+

The Iron Bull certainly found it well worth it some months later.

He’d taken a job with the Chargers, one that seemed pretty tame and routine compared to some of the jobs they’d run – especially under the Inquisition – but money was money after all. Unfortunately, they were double crossed by the poncy Orlesian noble who’d been offended that the Inquisition had simply reformed outside of their influence instead of submitting to their leash, and as a result was trying to hurt the Inquisitor by hurting her friends.

He growled as he squatted under cover with the rest of his company, teeth gritting as he ground out, “Oh, Josephine is gonna be so pissed to hear about this.”

Krem grunted. “If we ever get out of here.” And that, unfortunately, seemed to be a slimmer possibility with each passing moment. Dalish was severely injured, Rocky and Skinner weren’t that well off, and the rest of the ranged rogues were just barely holding their enemies at bay to allow them time to regroup. Trouble was, they were backed up, trapped against a dead end, and with flagging strength and too much opposition in sight, the options were grim.

Sighing, The Iron Bull pulled out his sending crystal, recognising how similarly Dorian must have felt all those months ago. Activating it, he only spoke one word, his Kadan’s name.

“Yes?” Dorian replied.

Rocking and flaming debris hit the wall behind him, but The Iron Bull barely flinched as he said, “I’m sorry, Kadan.”

“Sorry? Whatever for?”

The heat licked at the back of his neck, and he grunted as he shifted his body so he wasn’t pressed up against the worst of it. “Took a bad job. Pinned down. Don’t expect to make it out.” Sighing, he added, “I love you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I …” he began, but The Iron Bull cut off the crystal from his end, not wanting Dorian to hear any further. He’d wanted to tell him what happened to him, to tell him that he loved him one last time, but he didn’t want his Kadan to suffer through hearing exactly how he met his demise. For as he gripped his axe, he closed his remaining eye, breathing slow and deep as he centred himself, planning to charge out and meet his own end, to hopefully take out enough of them so his boys could have a fighting chance.

Before he had a chance to even stand from his cover, however, the air crackled with lightning and the chill of ice bit at his skin, unfamiliar shouts suddenly filling the air as he could feel magic being thrown about. After a moment’s hesitation, he peeked out around the corner and would have laughed, had he not been so exhausted. Dorian and another blonde mage whom he could only assume was Maeveris led a small contingent of mages who could only be the Lucerni that they headed. While not many in number, their talent more than made up for that, and their graceful spells and pointed incantations soon wiped out all who wouldn’t retreat.

Grunting in pleasant surprise, he stood and made his way to Dorian, the tall Magister giving his staff one last twirl before he planted the end of it in the ground. Smiling devilishly at him, his Kadan only said one thing.

“A Magister always pays his debts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my contribution to the Adoribull Reverse Bang 2019! Again, big thanks to the artist and also to my fellow writer who also wrote a piece for the art. And also, thanks goes to Mozzy for hosting this whole thing. :)


End file.
